I know it sounds rude, but I've got into the habit of not answering when the doorbell rings. I mean, who is it going to be? Anyone I know would have phoned or texted to say they were in the area and ask if it was a good time to call in. Calling round, knocking in, popping over: it's just not attempted without requesting permission. The truth is, hardly anybody cold-calls these days.
Lately, when the doorbell ding-dongs I've been shouting, "Don't answer it" in a voice that I hope is not quite loud enough for the person outside to hear. I don't want to sign up for the latest offer with the pizza-delivery people, and if you are collecting for charity you can always stick a note through my letter box, which I promise I will read.
Ding dong. Ding dong. No, I can't come to the door. Why? It's not really any of your business, but if you must know I am in my pyjamas, or I am in the middle of a riveting television programme, or I am in deep discussion about personal debt. I have shut the door on the world, and I have no inclination to open it unless you know me well enough to phone ahead. And if you do know me but just haven't bothered to phone ahead, well, that was silly, wasn't it? I might be on my way out or just not in the mood for a chat.
For a while I was thinking of putting a sign up: "I am not at home to casual callers, okay?" A few weeks ago, when the doorbell rang, I shouted "Don't answer it", but I didn't shout loudly enough, because my boyfriend, who wasn't aware of the new policy, went and answered the door. Down in my den, playing a game on the computer, I sighed and waited for the intrusion to pass. But then I heard footsteps.
Something very strange had happened. My best friend was "just passing" and had decided to "knock in". It was something of an urban miracle and, I noted, not unwelcome at all. We spent a very pleasant hour together, chatting over green tea and olives.
Because I know her so well I didn't care that the place was a bit of a mess or that I had to stand up my game opponents on the internet in order to entertain her. It was so successful, in fact, that the following week I reciprocated the visit.
Resisting the urge to phone ahead or even text news of my impending arrival, I pressed her doorbell. Once she had got over the complete shock of seeing her friend standing on the doorstep in the absence of a pre-visit arrangement, we had a lovely afternoon.
Since then I have been knocking round and popping in all over the place. Cycling home one day, I met my brother in the cycle lane. I was almost shy to ask if I could follow him home for a coffee: I felt I might be intruding.
What happened was that we had a great chat - and I was served delicious home-made blueberry pancakes when his wife came home. I cycled back to my house realising that it was probably the first time I had called round to them. It's sad when you think they only live around the corner.
When I was growing up there were people in and out of our house all day. Not answering the door would never have occurred, even though the house and some of its occupants - me, to mention just one - were in an almost permanent state of dishevelment.
My mother did typing work for people in the Sandymount area, so you might open the door to Agnes Bernelle, say, or Frank McGuinness clutching reams of hand-written pages (not that you'd know who they were at the time). And I know there are still people, mainly older people, who talk about having an open house. But, in Dublin at least, open house has gone the way of the RTÉ television programme.
Admittedly, some people are more receptive than others to my new attempts to be a more spontaneous friend.
A top tip if you are trying to attempt a casual call is to bring something decent with you as a gift. If you have got somebody out of the bath to answer the door, home-made Rice Krispie cakes do much to soften the blow. And if you are the one answering the door, try not to look too shocked or harassed by this unexpected turn of events.
Is it really the end of the world if someone sees your washing on the radiators or notices that you've been too wrecked to clean the kitchen? What are we hiding for? Who are we hiding from?
The doorbell rang the other day. Aware of the new policy, my boyfriend answered the door. The television-licence man was awfully polite. Potential callers should note that, for the moment, our new open-house policy is under review. roisiningle@irish-times.ie